The Medium: A Very Short Story in Two Parts
by Zoltan Berrigomo
Summary: If you could talk to anyone, alive or dead, who would you choose?
1. Chapter 1

As she watched the lanky man knock on her door before awkwardly pushing it open, Iriye reckoned that she knew his type: probably fancied himself too smart to believe in spirits or clairvoyance, he was here for a few laughs, maybe a story to tell his co-workers.

"I couldn't help noticing your sign," he said once inside.

"Oh yeah," she said. "I love it. Grabs your attention, don't it? My landlord didn't like the red awning to begin with, and when I put MEDIUM on it, all in big capital letters,..."

"Actually," he interrupted, "it was more the subtitle that interested me. _'Talk to anyone dead, from Julius Caesar to your grandma! Only $49.95.' _I'm wondering….could you really call on the spirit of Julius Caesar?"

"Sure," Iriye said. "No problem. You want to talk to Julius, that's fine. But I'm warning you, you're going to be disappointed. For one thing, do you speak latin? I sure don't."

"Ah," said the visitor. "I understand. Indeed I do not speak latin." Iriye took a closer look at him as he spoke. Big glasses, thin unkempt wavy hair, a lot of intensity around the eyes. Were it not for his expensive clothes, she might have supposed he was homeless.

"But," he went on, "it is no problem for you to bring forth the spirits of historical personages? People who have been dead for a long time?"

"Absolutely," Iriye said. "You want me to call forth George Washington? I'll do George Washington for you. But don't be telling me to call forth Jesus. That shit's blasphemous."

"No, no," the main quickly said. "I wouldn't trouble you like that. The person I want to call is...a colleague of mine, really. Someone who died while leaving some very important things unclear. I'd really like to ask him to clarify."

"This, uh, colleague...does he speak English?"

"He'll be speaking French," was the reply, "not the sort of French that I was schooled in, unfortunately. But I reckon we can try to get by." He smiled at Iriye.

"And what's his name honey?"

A few minutes later, they sat across a table in the backroom, holding hands. The lights were turned off and a single handle flickered between them. Persian carpets hung over the windows blocked the daylight. The room felt almost unbearably hot.

Iriye meditated in silence while her client looked skeptically at her. She felt herself brimming, almost overflowing, with aura. She just needed to concentrate, to make sure she used it just right. She'd give him something to tell his friends, that's for sure. Clearing her throat, she began.

_Anubis, Keeper of The Gate, Lord of Hidden Road Between Life and Death, I call to you. A follower of the Old Ways speaks. Open the gate between the Realm of the Living and the Realm of the Dead for I would traffick with the Departed._

A small wind suddenly blew through the room and she felt her client shiver. She smiled and continued.

_On the Wings of the Words that Fly - Whatever the Distance - Traverse Time and Space - __I Call You Forth, PIERRE DE FERMAT_


	2. Chapter 2

"So how much do I owe you?"

"Well," Iriye said. "That $49.95 is actually for a 15 minute session. The two of you were going at it for…" she looked at her watch. "Three hours? Holy shit. So, I reckon you owe me about $600."

To her surprise, the man did not argue. "I only have a hundred on me, I'm afraid," he said, rifling through his wallet. "I'll have to go to an ATM."

"I'll drive you," she said and he nodded his assent.

A few minutes later, she was in possession of the rest of her money. "Thank you very much, sweetie," she said stuffing the wad of cash into her purse. "Would you like me to drop you off somewhere?"

"The Marriott several blocks that way, please."

A few minutes later, he was walking into the cool, air conditioned lobby. Looking at the floor and walking quickly in an attempt to look as inconspicuous as possible, he made his way to the elevators. Once in his room, it took him about a half-hour to make the necessary phone calls and an additional half-hour to pack his bags; and so, about an hour later, he was wheeling his suitcase through the lobby.

This time he did not remain unnoticed.

"Andrew! I didn't see you in Barry's talk this afternoon. Where did you run off to?"

He stopped, running his mind through the list of possible excuses. "I'm very sorry Ken. Unfortunately, something's come up at home. I had to change my flight to go home tonight. On my way to the airport now, actually. Terribly sorry."

"Well, we'll all be very unhappy to miss you…"

Five minutes of awkward goodbyes later - five minutes that he was bristling to spend with a pen and paper - he was at the front desk.

"Checking out."

"Room number?"

"204."

"I hope you've enjoyed your stay with us, Mr. Wiles."

He smiled, the first genuine smile to grace his face all day. "More than you can imagine."


End file.
